Tis the Season

My beyooootiful sister. This was taken a few years ago...

Well, a mere few days after Thanksgiving and Christmas is already floating in the air. I have been making some lists and checking them twice, my favorite list being the one of delectable Christmas goodies I plan to bake. And there have been a few rehearsals of the show I am pseudo "helping" with A Christmas Twist. Think of what would happen if The Christmas Carol and Oliver Twist collided with each other head on and woke up as a brand new play. That's this show. The actors are so talented, the director is visionary, and if you're in the Buffalo area, I call you a fool if you do not find a way to see this show! It is hilarious enough to put even old Scrooge himself in the Christmas spirit.

As you might imagine, one of the things that has been in full force for a few week's now is the Christmas shopping. I try to be pretty careful in who I buy for, as the decision, as much as possible, has nothing to do with who I think is going to be buying gifts for me and feel put out that I have nothing for them. It's just who I think I want to give a gift to. Mostly those near rather than far (the post office at Christmas time has something to do with this, methinks) and handmade or local as much as I can.

But the reason that I love gifts, Christmas or otherwise, has nothing to do with where they come from or when they're given or what they cost. Gifts are meaningful to me because, at their best, they are a sign of the giver's fond reflections on the receiver. Sometimes you know someone well enough that the perfect thing for them jumps off the shelf. But sometimes it's harder, and then you have to sit and think. What do I know about him that would really tip me off? What are her favorite things to do? What kind of things is he interested in? What kind of books does she like, maybe I can discover her new favorite author? The thing that makes presents really beautiful to me is the time spent thinking about the person, and the more you really know them, the better your gift.

I don't really claim to excel at the art of giving gifts, and honestly, some of the people on my list are difficult enough to make me throw up my hands and say, Bah, humbug!" But I still think that the practice of giving gifts, no matter how commercialized and out of control this time of year (shopping stampede injuries and deaths? that honestly makes me feel sick) it is still a beautiful tradition. You know what I'm talking about. Because when you get that thoughtful or unexpected or beautifully handmade gift, you feel known. There are few better things than that.

Also, today is the first Sunday of Advent, the start of the church year and the Christmas season. Maybe you already knew that. If you didn't, I feel sad for the dearth of ecclesiology in your life. I LOVE ADVENT! Happy New Year, everybody!

S.

Court Reporters and Belly Dancers: Clash of the Titans

These are not belly dancers. Nor are they court reporters. They are my friends from Australia, helpfully stepping in in an illustrative capacity.

Today is turning out to be a super wonderful day. I negotiated for an ad space that normally costs $850, offered to one of the organizations I work for at $250, which was a most adrenaline inducing incident, if I may say so. I am a genius at this. Who knew? Also, today I am beginning to contemplate holiday plans that will not start to occur until after Thanksgiving (celebrating Christmas before Thanksgiving is holiday encroachment, and punishable by a night in prison or a hefty fine.) Visions of holiday baking, shopping, and caroling begin to dance in my head. Does anyone else feel, however, an odd sense that it's waaaay too early for Christmas? There's a radio station here in Buffalo that started playing Christmas music right after Halloween, and every time I skim past it and hear Feliz Navidad or some such, I get the strangest feeling, like someone is playing a practical joke. But, nonetheless, I love Christmas and can't wait to start celebrating, except yes I can, I can wait until after Thanksgiving. Okay then. Also, tomorrow is the first day that I will be observing rehearsals at a theatre I work for and it will be the first step of my ascendancy of learning the business of theatre and my road to fame and glory. This is a great day.

So, what I actually wanted to write about is this idea I've been batting back and forth. I take a belly-dancing class every Tuesday night (Dark Tower ladies, we need a reunion!) and there's this court reporting class that ends right about the time we're finishing our stretching and starting to go across the floor. So on any given Tuesday night, there are about five women, all wearing jingly coin belts, belly dancing across a yoga studio as these lovely court reporting ladies file past the window, nervously clutching their stenographers notebooks. Did I mention that before our class there's a bikram yoga class (a kind of yoga which is done in a very warm room) so the windows are completely steamed over. Does this not strike you as a scene ripe with comedic potential?

The trouble is, I took a class in Humor Writing when I was still in college, and it kind of ruined me for being funny in my written work. You know how when you have to explain to someone why a joke is funny, it ceases to be a joke? This was like four weeks of doing that to our own writing. Excruciating. So I have been unable, as of yet, to move forward with my belly-dancing stenographers sketch. But hopefully, someday, by watching enough 30 Rock, I will be able to recover my own intuitive wit, and bring this fantastic scenario to fruition. Stay tuned.

Intentional Play

So, in my short hiatus, I have been trying to think more clearly about what I want this space to be. Not what sort of theme it should have or anything like that, since as we've already established, that's impossible. But what purpose I want it to serve in my life. I think that what I want is for this to be a place of play. I think in the past I've been focused too much on what imaginary other people want from this space, whether they think my thoughts are deep and interesting, whether I talk about dance or Gourmet magazine too often, whether I come off sounding cool and intellectual enough. This is absurdity. I am not a famous blogger, with lots of readers and ads and honorable mention in the New York Times. I don't really think I have that many readers to speak of. So, those of you who have mentioned to me that you read this blog, I love you and I'm so happy you're interested enough in my life to keep coming back here, and I would love for you to keep reading but from now on, I want to be more intentional about pretending that you're not there. By which I mean, I want to free myself from the constraints of "The Watchers," my imaginary people's imaginary opinions about me. Nobody has ever told me that I talk about dance too often. I made that up, a critique that I've been responding to in the way that I go about blogging, that no one ever said to me! And this is my space, and I want to use it for whatever creative action I see fit on a given day.

That being said, I want to start being more intentional about my writing again. It's kind of a long and ridiculous and boringly psychological story, but when I started to be serious about dancing, I felt like writing was something I would have to give up. Like I could only choose one art form or I would be betraying my pursuit of greatness. Well, fortunately I realized that this is silly and I don't want to pursue greatness anyway. But I do think (having been exposed to some really bad writing recently) that I do have some small gift with writing, and I think to just toss it aside is disrespectful, bad stewardship and all that. So, again, I am committing to play, not to post a finished essay every other week, but with intentionality. Intentionality towards those little stories that are happening all around me. Mine and yours.

Okay, that's all for today. Let's play again soon.

The New Thing

So, things have still been zooming around here at about a million miles an hour. Last weekend was full on tango workshop weekend. All tango all the time. And ladies and gents, I have tangoed all that I can, I can't tango no more. At least until Friday. Truth be told, I think I've been taking on more than my solitude-loving soul can handle. So, I haven't really come here today to actually post, sadly enough. More just to check-in and say hi. I haven't really been able to have enough down time to crawl into that mental space where the creative energy lives, where the deep thoughts gather and gel. But I washed some of the dishes today. I figured out why the water wasn't draining out of the washing machine the right way. These are great achievements. These are the great achievements for the past week.

So, I'll leave you with that and one great piece of news: I've been talking to one of my clients, a theatre owner, about doing some more hands-on work with them as part of my job. She is totally supportive of it and wants to get me in there learning lights, sound, and acting as the "outside eye" as they rehearse their productions. I could not be more excited. One more great thing for me to learn. I'd better be careful, though. When I learn videography, I want to become a videographer, when I learn lights, I'll want to become stage crew. Around every new corner there seems to be a possible career change. And to think, when I started college just a few short years ago I thought I had to become a writing major because that was the only thing I could be good at. Pah! Absurdity. Anyway, I am very excited to start this new venture and I thought you all should know. Expect more from me...someday.

S.

Epic Weekend

Remember how I said that I am busy every waking weekend of my life this fall. That theme is continuing. This weekend was so jam-packed that it ended up getting spread across 4 days. Four! Yes, no, I just recounted, it really was four. Here is what was done...

--Friday: Clue party at the Cliftons. I was Miss Peacock and made myself a glorious flapper-esque headdress of feathers. Dan has pictures, so maybe one day you will be able to see me in my regalia. Post-party party was an impromptu dance time, jump around awesomeness, which was food to my soul. Remember that, everyone I've ever lived with, how we would just have these spontaneous parties of dancing, how we could not not have them? Yep, it was like that.

--Saturday: Apple picking. First though, there was a stint at Jericho Road's workshop on cultures, facilitated by Jon Arensen. Aka--listen to crazy, interesting stories about Murle, geese, cows, and being high context for an hour. Then we headed off on the most beautiful drive up to the Orchard. It was a proper fall day of the blustery, low hanging grey clouds, bundle up variety. We picked Northern Spys and Fujis and I brought home 30 pounds of apples, which are going to become the most wonderful confectionous things you ever dreamed of. Then Jer and Eric practiced throwing apples to and at one another, at trees, and for distance throws. Then on the drive home, we stopped for doughnuts at Tim Horton's. Some people drank their coffee because some people think it is something other than bilge water, but some other people know better.

--Sunday: Work stuff. Brunch with the amazing people who organized this film we were screening, including this woman who wrote a book on homeschooling and was so knowledgeable and fascinating about education, sexism, and race issues. I could have listened to her talk for three days straight. Also, sidenote: smothered cornbread. A very good idea. Then a tabling event which yours truly helped to coordinate, and general mayhem before the screening of the movie. Then, the movie "Pray the Devil Back to Hell," which focuses on the Liberian women's peace movement, which helped to bring down the oppressive Charles Taylor regime. Not your typical documentary about war torn African nation. So inspiring, so hopeful. Grassroots peace efforts can work, people! Then, reception, cheese and crackers and such.

--Monday: The pressing of the apples. I will be eternally indebted to Jeff and Thryn for coming up this fall. Ever since we went to Jeff's house to press apples back in college, it is something my soul longs to do every year! The process is gorgeous and the result ruins your life, by which I mean, in olden days, apple cider from a grocery store is something that you feel like you could enjoy. But, after you've tasted home squeezed, you can never go back. I have four large bottles sitting neatly in my freezer, we'll see how long they last, now that I've taken to drinking apple cider like it's water. We'll see...

So that was the weekend of epicness. I'll post again when life is slow and sleepy. Any day now, I'm sure...

S.

Fine Things of Fall

Me and really large pumpkins, photo courtesy of Housemate

O ye blog, how silently hath ye wandered thru the vales...and so on and so forth. Guess it's time to step up the game where the old blog is concerned. My only excuse at the moment is that the days are packed with fine things, like the aforementioned belly-dancing class and the goodly bible study, and don't you worry, soon, so very soon, the winds will howl and the snows will blow and I will have nothing to do except sit under quilts and tippety type away with new blog posts for y'ins. Hasten the day.

And so today, I have no great words of wisdom nor any news. I have been reflecting for some time about the passage of these goodly season. It seems to be a theme of my life ever since I moved to Buffalo, and I hope it continues this way, to try to orient my life around the rhythm of each years' seasons, through seasonal eating and seasonal celebrations and rituals. I think it focuses me every few months on the way that time flies, and the way that NOW is the time to do every good thing. Or every thing that is good in this season. Transitioning to fall this year has been hard, though, as I think many find who live in the northern climes. The spring and summer were so short, and we don't feel quite ready to go back to the long dark and especially the cold of the winter months. It hasn't helped that, after a few unseasonably warm days, the weather seemed to pull the switch and settle us in for long weeks of cold drizzle and gray. I have, in fact, felt much comforted to feel my own struggle echoed by many out there in the blogosphere.

The other thing that has been helping has been to dive into the glories of fall, rather than trying to hold on to everything that I love about summer (including the produce. Notice to the zucchinis in my fridge: you are the last of your kind and you must go!). This summer, too, was so great and so full of what summer should be. Swimming in lakes, bonfires, picnics, sleeping late, hot days, fruit pies, ice cream (oh my god. i have eaten so much ice cream.) But, though it was loosely implemented and conceived in the summer, I am putting my new plan of seasonal goals into full effect in the fall. Basically, when the season starts to change, I brainstorm everything that this season means to me, everything I feel like I MUST do before I run out of time. And then I go about and do those things. So far, it has been great. So now, I share with you, in no particular order, my list for fall, both the complete and the uncomplete:

1. Buy mums and bulbs. Plant bulbs, mums, and those two intrepid trees. (VISTAs were given trees at our earth day service project. I took 5 and so far only 2 are still surviving. They are in the ground. I hope they live till the spring. I also love bulbs. Working in the yard this season actually brought back buried memories of how when we lived in Omaha it was my job to strip all the leaves off last year's cuttings. In spite of my black thumbs, I still love to garden!)

2. Pumpkin patch. Check, as of this weekend. Any of the Omaha crew reading this, I hope you have as many fond memories as I do of Val's Pumpkin patch, the storybook maze, the pirate band, and of course the hayrack ride out to pick you own pumpkins. Well, yesterday me and my housemate made a voyage out to Clarence to check out their pumpkin patch. It was very different, more of a carnival atmosphere than the country, down home vibe of Val's, but there was still a hayrack ride, and a petting zoo, and the most amazing pumpkin cannon that would shoot out a pumpkin so high you literally lost sight of it. And of course the pumpkin olympics, of which we witnessed the pumpkin gut dash and the pumpkin pie eating contest. And lots and lots of pumpkins and mini pumpkins and gourds and indian corn. A good, good day and I am so looking forward to carving my big pumpkin for our...

3. Halloween party. I just finished decorating the house today, although we clearly still lack some fake gravestones and cobwebs for the front yard. And I am still waiting for the perfect costume ideas...any thoughts?

4. Raking Leaves (and jumping in piles of them and raking them up again)
5. Apple picking-and subsequent makings of pies and sauce and butter

That's pretty much all there is for now. Fall seems to be a pretty short season around these parts, but if you have anything that quintessentially speaks of fall to you, do feel free to share!

S.

Pancakes for the Tribe

I don't know about anyone else, but I have been on a cooking spree lately. Anything made with corn, tomatoes, zucchini, eggplant, basil, stone fruits, all the gorgeous summer goodness that is passing slowly away as we tilt towards fall and winter. I think all this cooking, freezing, roasting, canning--dare I say it?--nesting is all part of the way I am trying to savor and say farewell to summer. It is passing, winter is coming. It will not stop coming because I refuse to accept it. All right, then.

Thankfully, my faithful subscription to Gourmet magazine has kept me up to my ears in delicious recipes--really ever since I started subscribing. Plum Kuchen, Roasted Tomatoes, Roasted Garlic Tomato sauce, Cherry Buttermilk Cake, Corn and Tomato Pie, Peach Ice Cream, Baked Tomatoes with Hazelnut Breadcrumbs. (there's a lot of tomato stuff, I know. I've been very committed to learning to like them and let me tell you, it's working!)And, most recently, Corn Pancakes.

Sounds kind of weird, huh? This is actually one of my now favorite recipes that I passed up my first time around, but was rescued for me because after I've gleaned all I want from each month's issue, I usually cruise by Gourmet.com to see a feature called "Ruth's Favorite Recipes from the _____ issue." Ruth Reichel is one of my favorite food editors and seems to have impeccable taste, and it's happened more than once that I've tried a recipe I was not too excited about on her recommendation and fallen head over heels. I know, I know checking the website? A favorite food editor? I'm a super-dork for this kind of stuff, but hey, I eat well.

So there I was, on Saturday morning, sun streaming in the window, a hot cup of fresh, French-pressed coffee steaming on the counter, potatoes sizzling in the cast iron skillet and the hot griddle full of these delicious pancakes. I was in foodie heaven, the quiet house, the relaxing concentration of producing good food, the anticipation of the meal to come when BAM! loneliness hit me like a brick between the eyes.

Backstory: I love cooking for other people. Whether I'm dragging people over here for a dinner or baking a cake for bible study or insisting on whipping something up to share when someone invites me over, or at the holidays...don't even get me started. The issue has always been not having enough people to eat the food that I make. Living at home, where I took over cooking for my family at the age of 16, there was only three of us and my mother and sister, who both ate like birds anyway, were usually on some kind of diet, which made making desserts all but impossible. When I went away to college, through bible studies, cooperative dinner making and just plain having more hungry people around, things got much better. And here in Buffalo, I have established a fairly *ahem* positive reputation, so if I ever have any food to get rid of, all I have to do is whistle. So why is it not enough?

By and large, I still eat most of my meals alone, and, don't get me wrong, it is fantastic to cook once and eat for a few days without having to dirty more dishes or make more work (that is the fly in the ointment, those dishes). But there are just some times, some meals, where I know, deep down in my heart, that I want to be sharing this food.

My sister and I often talk about our envy for the family in the movie Dan in Real Life. Coming from a small family where we barely know the extended sides, those fictitious summers by the lake, with brothers, sisters, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins all piled into one big house doing crazy, inventive fun stuff together sounds like paradise. But this desire, I think, has not so much to do with wanting a big family (I'm going to be very happy with my sister's 10 kids). I want a tribe. I want a group of people who are around, in the day to day, in your face, life kind of way. I want people who don't just live in my neighborhood or in my city but in my house! I want people to empty the cookie jar without asking if it's okay. I want people to groan over the injuries of Wipeout with. I want a noisy house, where people run around and yell up the stairs instead of walking up and knocking quietly on doors. I want a huge dining room table, where anyone could invite anyone to join us and we'd all just scrunch together a little more and add a little water to the soup. I want to walk in with the skillet of steaming corn pancakes and go around and give second helpings to anyone that wanted them, right from the skillet to the plate.

Oh well. This is one of those things where there's no reason why it wouldn't work out and there's a million reasons why it wouldn't work out. And I guess I'm just a little more blue than usual because all of my buddies are either out of town or doing med school rotations or visiting relatives or taking more college classes or celebrating their anniversary or driving to Ohio or writing grants or...busy. Really, really busy. Not their fault, but still rough.

So, if you've ever felt like inviting yourself over for dinner, but thought it might be rude, just do it. I would be so, so happy to whip up a quick batch of corn pancakes, just for me and you. Or me and you and everyone we know.